


Sensible

by SensationalSista



Series: Wedding Coda [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 5x06, Bitter-sweet, F/F, Fluff, Wedding Talk, harold and root friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSista/pseuds/SensationalSista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one-shot: After her post wedding discussion with Harold, Root continues to ponder her thoughts of love and her future, referencing to her reading of "Sense and Sensibility".</p>
<p>Sequel to my 5x06 coda, "Lonely".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensible

**Author's Note:**

> Basically continuation of my 5x06 coda... A 5x06 coda-coda if you will. Now made into a series!  
> Planning on one more (happy) installment because, come on, this whole wedding talk and fairytale ending discussion deserves something happy. :)

With the wedding now slowly slipping into the past and into a bitter-sweet memory, the team had fallen into a night of rest. Reese was surely sleeping at his detective identity’s cover address. No one was quite clear where Fusco had gone that evening, but no alert had been issued for the team to be vigilant just yet. Then there was Harold, typing away in the subway car; clack of keys resounding like a cacophony in the open station, frequent backspaces interfering with the general rhythmic sound of rolling fingers over the keyboard.

Root had turned in, however not yet bidding a goodnight. Hell, she rarely slept more than a few transient hours on the best of days. Deep anesthesia still had to be her best rest over these last few months while hiding out in this subway station. Her eyes felt heavy, weighted from the day’s physical and emotional tolls. Arms lazily crossed behind her head, messy brown curls splaying across her pillow and grumpy bat stuffed animal, she stared up at the cement ceiling from her bed. Red hued light illuminated the usual beige concrete blocks with moving splotches of purple, born from the slow flow emanated out of her lava lamp. But no matter her fatigue from the busy day of typical crime fighting and subjective heroism, her mind just ran too fast to succumb to her body’s weariness.

She had been on radio silence for the last 8 hours, next to no information being whispered in her ear since they had left the wedding reception; each individual composing their small trio leaving with a mixture of remorse, guilt, and deep longing heaving in their somehow still thudding hearts.

The lack of information was not concerning, though. She was accustomed to the intermittent spans of silence. This was normal since Samaritan had come online, of course. It usually meant that She was about to give her a large number of covers coming up. The Machine was always looking out for Her Analogue Interface in that regard. At least the constant static hiss was a reminder to Root that She was just being quiet; not absent. So this was not the worry running her thoughts ragged.

Something still caught in Root’s mind from just hours earlier, after having a brief, yet emotional discussion with Harold about fairy-tale endings. Perhaps _that_ was the reason behind her sleepless inability at the moment. Thoughts whirred in her mind, projecting multiple blurs of episodes in front of her mind’s eye, almost replacing the bland ceiling with a silver screen meant for her own movies, her own simulations, to play out.

Why had she felt so inclined to share her personal fairy-tale dreams with Harold? Maybe she just had so much pent up feelings that she needed to release them, lest she be overcome and smothered by the emotional weight on her shoulders.

She had asked the man, an enemy turned ally and friend, that should she one day get married, if he would walk her down the aisle. A silly request, pretty much absurdly childish. But it made her feel connected for a moment; almost grounding her and letting herself believe that _when_ they found Shaw, and took out their enemy ASI once and for all, that perhaps she would be able to consider such a life.

After all, family politics, over cooked meat, and monogamy certainly did not sound unappealing when it was her beautiful Sameen and herself.  It actually would not even be a problem: Neither with family outside their little Team Machine, Shaw’s appetite of absolutely anything meat-like paired with Root’s hidden cooking talents, and their already unspoken exclusivity of their relationship. They were destined for each other.

She found herself smiling, absentmindedly. But the reel of imaginary footage stopped playing across her personal theater and she found herself laying, alone, back in her make-shift bedroom. The heaviness settled in her heart once more, pulling her smile into resting neutral, and she had this overwhelming urge to not let go of her emotional high just yet. The wedding had given her a time of reprieve and she wanted to indulge herself as long as she could. Who knew when, or rather _if_ she’d have the chance again? The moment she set foot outside of their sanctuary, she was playing a game of Russian Roulette; every single mission a known, deadly threat to each of them.

With a kick of her heels, she was on her feet and striding to the door, not quite sure what she was seeking, but knowing she needed something more. Something happy that she could use to tide her over in the coming weeks, months, years..

“Harold?” she questioned, peeking her head out of the door flap to her private room. She saw the man spin his swivel chair around, body poised and question across his face.

“Ms. Groves,” he started with a blink. “I thought you had turned in hours ago.”

Root gave a wry grin. “Oh come on Harry. When was the last time I’ve been able to sleep for that long?” He seemed to consider the information before nodding.

“What may I help you with?” He tilted his head again, hands resting on his knees as Root poked her body out of the small door way and quickly making her way toward the subway car. The lithe woman reached the metal doorway, leaning her shoulder against the frame and crossing her arms in a casual stance, yet the computer engineer could sense an air of apprehension still hiding beneath the woman’s usual confident aura.

She smiled softly. “I was just thinking.. And I don’t mean to perseverate so much on all of this..” Harold accepted the conversational prelude, seeming to already gage that Rot was still referring to the wedding earlier that day, or was it yesterday by now? Either way, he was all ears. “How did you propose to Grace?”

The friendly smile that had been on the man’s face suddenly fell and Root sucked in a breath with momentary resignation at asking such a blunt question. A blunt and loaded question. It was the first that had come to mind, and she realized that maybe she should have tried something more subtle and leading; her usual tactic. Perhaps she was just too tired to try anymore. Still, she stood her ground, trying to provide a calm environment as the man processed the topic and considered debriefing any information of the subject.

Seeming to recover from the momentary lapse, the older man let out a heavy sigh, lips tugging weakly up in the corners at an attempted smile. It did not reach his eyes, but a fine level of amusement could almost be discerned. Or maybe it was just the reflection of light from is glasses.

“Curious for ideas?” he hummed in an almost teasing way; a mannerism which Root easily could surmise came from the two computer nerds frequenting each other’s lives so much more since the Machine’s collapse, living under toe of one another. She never knew she could find herself rubbing off on the man. Though it should be expected. He had been doing just the same to her.

Or maybe it was a weak attempt at deflection from answering the question. Root liked to think it was the former.

“Potentially looking for material to fill my mind to take up this down time.” She looked him up and down, shifting into a slightly more open stance. Her smile turned soft and inviting. “Also, curious to my roomie’s history. There is so much I don’t know about you, Harry.” She tried to add some humor to her tone. “Besides, we don’t exactly have the luxury of knowing how much time we have left to get to know each other, after all.” Although the lightness flitting in her tone was evident, the gentleman could sense the sincerity and sullen foreshadowing behind the words.

Eventually, Harold let his shoulders relax in mutual understanding. “We met in Central Park; a beautiful spring day.. and I handed her a book. Inside, a box was carved out with the ring inside.” His lips twitched upwards, eyes crinkling at the sides; an image seemed to play before his eyes as a memory overcame him.

Root appreciated the reverie that seemed to wash over his features. She could appreciate these moments nowadays, content to see the ones that she held dearest to her experience happiness.

The long moment eventually passed. Stealing himself back, honest eyes, worn and tired from years of loss, stared back up at the hacker; a fondness still shining. “ _Sense and Sensibility.”_

“Jane Austen,” Root murmured, very familiar with the works. Classics were her favorite and, aside from coding language, they were the only readings she ever bothered herself with indulging in. “What made you choose that one?”

“It held.. a lot of sentimental value and reflection for myself.” He smiled, choosing his words carefully. “Jane Austen was wonderful at expressing love in a way that many authors fail to achieve. Isolating the dangers of excessive sense of romantic ideals from excessive sensibility of practicality with use of the Dashwood sisters.” It was there his smile wavered in the slightest, slight irony painting his next words. “May not have been the most appropriate book for a proposal as its foreshadowing was.. undeniable. It’s something I regret deeply.”

Root nodded, understanding. “I’m sure she loved it all the same, Harry.” He looked up, catching her honey glazed eyes. “And I’m sure she’d never have changed a thing because it was coming from you.” A shared beat of comfort before Harold shook his head.

“Ms. Groves, if you do not mind, I wish to continue with.. my work right now.” His voice was soft, distracted as he began to turn in his seat. Root knew for certain that this was actual deflection this time. She was given only a moment to nod, before Harold mentioned, “I saved it from my library. It’s in the book shelf in your room, if you feel so inclined.”

The young woman let herself slip a small smile of appreciation, although the man could not see it now. Instead, she left and headed back to her small room, choosing to leave the doorway open as she passed through the threshold. Her attention was on a small stack of books that Harold had given her to make the room ‘feel more natural.’ She had not even bothered to pick up one of the books, more engrossed with the readings of her computer codes.

It was a quick find at the base of the pile. She let her fingers trace the black glossed book binding, flipping the pages beneath the pad of her thumb, before cracking it open to the first page. It had been more than a decade since she had last read this story, but she had an inkling that she just may hold some new appreciation for the symbolism.

It was countless hours later and Root finally closed the book, dog-earing a particular page containing a rather romantic quote that she could remember having resonated with her, even from a time so long ago; buried beneath layers of negativity and aloofness. Although, it seemed so much more appropriate and fitting to the life she had finally come across; to the person she had become:

_“Know your own happiness. You want nothing but patience- or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.”_

She laid back down in bed thoughts taking a trail of their own leaving the memories of the book and strolling down her own memories weaving them into a story to be told all brand new. She understood that sense and sensibility were woven so close, and at times one would have to be picked over the other. But until she came across that bridge road, she could at least revel in knowing she did have her happiness.

But like everyone else, she would be perfectly happy in her own way. Her hope really had become her happiness; her hope to find Sameen, hope to keep her safe by all means necessary, hope for the world’s future, hope for a better life for everyone she cared for. And maybe her hope would morph into bitter-sweet expectation, but it did not matter. Hope was what made all of this turmoil worthwhile.

After all, who really knew? Maybe someday, she’d actually need to go on an impromptu robbery spree of the nearest jeweler; sifting through a plethora of beautiful diamonds. She would tell herself that she wouldn’t be too picky in the matter, but she subconsciously knew that, should she find herself in this position, she’d want it to be perfect. Root smirked at the enjoyable thought, envisioning the heavy eye roll of dark chocolate eyes at the mere sight of such an ornate offering. Her amber finally eyes closed with that in mind, peaceful smile across her lips and serenity in her heart as she drifted off with that ending in mind.

An undetermined amount of time later, she started to hear the familiar chatter beginning to crackle and her ear. Eyes slowly, yet pleasantly, opening at the welcoming sound, brain processing the codes and data information beat for beat, Root sighed. Sounded like Detective Fusco had found himself in a bit of trouble.

Location: hospital.

Police officer, it was.

She threw herself off of the bed and began walking towards her closet filled with multiple costume changes and cover identities. Shoving aside a large bear suit and girl scouts’ attire, she grabbed the blue blouse and vibrant neon police vest; tucked away for a rainy day adventure. The Machine had already printed out one of her newest ID cards by the time she was dressed and swinging through the empty subway car. Just another day on the job.

_Hopefully, it'll be one step closer to finding Shaw._ The thought was automatic. There was that hope again. An almost echoing fear that such a hope was going to overtake her and form into expectation. She felt an urge to look at her god, point blank, and once more demand for help to find her beloved. No. Not this moment. She’d bite her tongue for now, but as hope and these overwhelming emotions continued to plague her mind, ebbing away at her sensibly contained desperation, she did not know how much longer she could take.

Instead, she tied her bun and fitted the navy cap on her head, falling into her role.

For now, she had a job to do.


End file.
